Problem Child
by Dixon Oriole
Summary: For feather duster! Post everything. Rated for language. Maybe Garland SHOULD rethink what he lets into his house.


_Disclaimer_: I claim nothing! If you want it, Mr. Aoki Takao, please, take it!

Problem Child

He froze in the kitchen doorway, eyes on Brooklyn and Mystel laughing together from beneath a kitchen-wide coat of flour and strawberry smoothie.

Should have been predictable, really. Mystel was, quite simply, the one who made _messes_. In all kinds of mediums. Flour and smoothie…—but usually nothing a few hours with a sponge and/or mop couldn't fix—nothing telling Mystel no, good lord, do it tomorrow, wouldn't have prevented.

He'd told Mystel no, good lord do it tomorrow, but apparently Brooklyn had intervened. Because the kitchen looked like_ this_ a day too early. And Brooklyn would do that…—because Brooklyn made messes you couldn't mop away.

Because Garland didn't have a few hours, at the moment. _Because _he had company on the way. BECAUSE he had to look like he was in control of this… household!

He gazed mournfully at the blender sitting in the middle of the floor, lidless, still spinning its blades through two inches of smashed strawberries and flour. And lemon juice, because Mystel had supposed it needed more liquid in order to achieve an even _blend._ Two inches because the rest of the mixture—it was meant to be a smoothie cake… what?—had exploded across the kitchen. A thin layer of flour and strawberry smoothie because they'd been wondering if those movie-blenders, those kitchen-scenes where inevitably messes were made, they'd been wondering whether the _effects_ were, you know, exaggerated.

But no... No, they were not exaggerated.

Dammit.

_Mystel_. God, you'd yell and yell, but in the end—it was okay, because after that one time you'd had a fit over the chocolate pudding fermenting in three bathroom sinks, and chased him and kind of scared the living daylights out of him, he'd decided to listen when you said please, please God do it tomorrow. At least because of that frayed look in your eyes, right?

But_ Brooklyn_. There was nothing you could say. There was nothing you could yell or throw a fit over because good God what would _happen_, if you did that? What if he ran away or—or… You could tiptoe around the possibility, but in the end Brooklyn could level the house.

You could give Mystel those frayed eyes and he would look a teeny tiny bit ashamed and shut his mouth around the laughter, stifle the laughter into his nose only, and pick himself slipping—but never falling—up out of the pinkish sludge. But you couldn't give Brooklyn those eyes, you couldn't look at Brooklyn with that kind of desperation because he'd _know_ you'd lost control and he'd laugh, "Fuck you!

"Fuck you."

Garland winced. Mystel did a full body double-take, and almost fell. Ming Ming and Moses, in the other room, ended their conversation out of morbid fascination.

Garland averted his desperate eyes. He had to appear in control of this household. Because mom and dad were going to arrive in thirty minutes, sure, but mostly because if he wasn't in control, Brooklyn was in control. And when Brooklyn realized he was in control, they were all, royally, _in_ for it.

"Fucking cow," Brooklyn said matter-o-factly, still sitting in the smoothie cake, in fact gathering it into handfuls—

Garland opened and closed his mouth like a suffocating fish. Mystel dived behind the island, grinning toothily, curling into a ball and waiting for the explosion. Ming Ming and Moses, hands to their mouths in shock, looked at each other like _what_ the hell? Tried not to smile.

"Asshole," Brooklyn stated, and when Garland advanced to pull the god-bearer to his feet, he raised a dripping pink fistful of smoothie cake. …and Garland backtracked to keep the island between them, thinking hard and fast.

Mystel, chewing on his fist to keep from shrieking laughter or horror or something, tugged at Garland's pant leg. Mimi and Moses, in the other room, backed away slowly. Turned and ran out into the hallway, cackling-frightened.

They smacked into Kylie, who recovered and narrowed her eyes at them like oh what on earth is happening now? And they gestured, numb, when out of nowhere Brooklyn yelled, "Hey, FUCK—_off_, jackass!" and Garland responded, "BROOKLYN."

Kylie blinked, heading past Mimi and Moses. _Oh_, she thought. _Oh._ Because just through the door there was Brooklyn staggering up, slipping around on soaking pink socks over soaking pink linoleum, holding a fistful of something pink in Garland's direction, who was leaning against the island, where Mystel was still tugging at his pant leg whispering, "Gar,_ Gar_…

"You should probably just lock him in here, Gar. He's freakin' out!"

"Am fucking not. Little shit."

"…BROOKLYN. Honestly… please."

"Okay, Gar, I'm gonna—leave," Mystel giggled oh-so-softly, slithering past his legs, past Kylie in the door, giggling back, "Sorry about the kitchen, Gar!" Joining Mimi and Moses and leaning with them on one another, doubled-up laughing.

"Retarded little bitch…"

"Hey!—Okay, okay, Brooke. Please. Can you… please."

Brooklyn looked at him loftily, chin all stubborn pride. Eyes all calm appraisal and scorn. Whitish pinkish lemony cake-mix dripping down his face, out of his hair, in gobs. Mouth clamped tight around profanity. _Dumbass bitch. _

Garland's head stung with the thought. "_Dam_mit…"

"Hey—what?" Brooklyn asked, noticing Kylie, "Hey what the fuck?"

"Hi, Brooklyn," Kylie said softly, gazing at the back of Garland's head, thinking hard and fast. Her brother startled at the voice that could very well be his salvation, half-turning to look at her, the desperation on his face unshielded now. _Fuck, he's lost control._ At the best time too, mom and dad would arrive in—like twenty minutes. Maybe Mystel was right: maybe just lock him in here, and…

"Oh, you stupid bitch! You cunt, _fuck_ you!"

"BROOKLYN. Stop."

_God, will you shut up?! STUpid dick… _

Kylie saw her brother kind of reel, and jumped to his side, saying diplomatically while Brooklyn called her a filthy whore in her head, "Let's make a deal, Brooke."

* * *

They'd invited Hiro to dinner also because it wasn't overkill, and he could get there in ten minutes, alright? Hang tight. 

And there was Garland, Kylie, Jamie—residents who knew best what was happening here. Had the most experience dealing—…And then the team. And they sat in strategic locations around the dining room table, pretending not to be watching Brooklyn like a hawk—pretending not to notice when some creative filth or other marquee'd across their brainwaves with the harsh bite of Brooklyn's voice when he was in control.

Mom and dad sat at either end of the table because that was normal, and they were trying to make everything seem normal. And they were smiling, which was normal. They'd been smiling all dinner. Mom and dad smiled too. Unbothered when Kylie said the oven was broken, and Mystel helpfully chimed in that was because he'd tried making a greeting-cake so they had to keep the kitchen door shut or the fumes would kill them.

The grandiloquence had made dad laugh.

That was good, that was normal. They didn't suspect anything yet.

Even when Jamie was talking mildly about some pesticide or other they'd had to prevent the landscapers from putting on the grass, lest the blackberry bushes get killed, and then paused when Brooklyn—something about homicidal sons of bitches—bit through his brain, and blushed magnificently, and covered it with an intense coughing fit and several apologies that, no, no, it was okay, he just hadn't… chewed…

Even when Ming Ming was giggling over one of dad's typically clever jokes, and Brooklyn bit—something about ass-kissing dimwits—and she slapped her hands over her mouth, amber eyes flashing to Brooklyn for all of a second before averting, perhaps more conspicuously, into her penne, and then she just stuck a forkful of pasta into her mouth and didn't make any more noise about anything.

Even when Mystel's grin didn't disappear for more than three seconds at a time, and his shoulders shook whenever anybody suddenly lost their train of thought, or Brooklyn's fork clinked too loudly against his plate. Or whenever Brooklyn bit him, with things about shit-eating monkeys, and what the_ fuck_ were they laughing at?

Even when Moses' trembling frown didn't clear for even a second, and his skull glistened with cold sweat, and rather too often he widened his eyes and looked at Brooklyn in utter amazement because of bite-marks littering his psyche, tagged with things about incestuous jack-offs dripping into their food, how gross.

Even when sometimes in their congenial conversation-making Kylie and Garland faltered, flinched, and recovered (Brooklyn kept biting, you know… spurs about interfering slutbags and ugly goats). Though, Kylie thought, Garland spent suspiciously long stretches just looking at his plate in desperation, and if he wasn't careful they'd be found out, so she kicked him under the table and he stopped. And instead he stared with frayed eyes in the general direction of not Brooklyn.

Their mother and father didn't even notice when Hiro sometimes curled his hand over the top of Brooklyn's, smiling determinedly through ragged bite-wounds like hands _off_, arrogant pedophilic _cock_sucker.

But they noticed that the most forthcoming among the children, at the moment, was Brooklyn. Brooklyn leaning back in his chair, fork twirling in his dinner, green eyes guileless, voice friendly, but mind ready with obscenities. Smile communicating nothing less than serene enjoyment of their company, of the power he was exercising over their children's company. But Mr. And Mrs. Siebalt couldn't have differentiated, and pretty soon Brooklyn was who they were chatting with most, everyone else having fallen quiet in watchful fear.

"Oh no, not at _fucking _all! Your _faggot _sons and _whore of a _daughter have been very _fucking_ tolerant towards me! _Because they all want to screw me, naturally. They scratch my back, I scratch—_ I just hope I haven't been causing them too much trouble myself—_things can get a little rough, if you know what I mean_. I know I can be a handful sometimes! _But of course you understand, Mr. Siebalt—your wife here looks the type_ …But it's nice to have a place to call home. Thank you so much for opening your house to me! _Not to mention your legs, right, Gar? Ky? Jay? HI-RO?"_

"Mmhm. _You betcha, thundercunt! _Garland keeps us very amused and well-fed. _We're investments pieces! But he learned how to treat us right from Boris, that raging baby-banger, so no surprise there. And Mimi's already SUCH a whore, half the work done for him there… _It's such a beautiful estate! I especially like the pond; have you met the duck named Myra? She has an entire family. There's also a gigantic koi named Kirkland who visits you when you're on the little bridge, he's a lousy conversationalist but—"

The kids looked back and forth, rapidfire, to see what of the filth littering Brooklyn's side of the conversation registered. Aaand—what, none of it? Mom and dad smiled on. Asked about the future.

_Please, Garland, shut your dirty, gawking mouth. Things are meant to go in, not come out._

"Oh yes! We're staying together for the upcoming championships, mmhm. With Garland as the captain nothing can go wrong! This is the best wine, by the way, Mr. Siebalt.

"Yup, it's all set. Zeus and I are at the top of our game. In fact everybody is!

"Yesss, I'm very optimistic about the whole thing. So is Hiro. Aren't you coa_ch_?"

Because, clearly, they were hearing different things. …Clearly, Brooklyn upkept his end of the bargain. _Deals with the fucking devil_, Garland couldn't help but think, nauseated eyes on his dinner so that they wouldn't be on Brooklyn. But in the end Brooklyn heard him, and shot back with a bite hard enough to make Garland rattle the cutlery, _This is exactly what you signed the fuck on for, you coward. _

Hiro gave him a look that communicated much the same. "Yes. I'm very optimistic about their chances."

* * *

Dinner broke up somewhat raggedy. Mimi excused herself and ran away, face buried in her napkin, when Brooklyn referred to her as a corporate perk. Moses flew after with a sob, because roughly simultaneously, Brooklyn had said something derisive about Affirmative Action cases. Kylie followed suit with a theatrical sniffle, lamenting the new lilac bushes in bloom and damn these allergies, right?! 

Jamie, pale and tight-lipped, offered to clear so that he wouldn't have to carry on a conversation. Garland jumped up to help, trying to save himself, but Hiro's sharp eyes told him no. Brooklyn's steady smile as he pushed in Mrs. Siebalt's chair—oh, please call her Jocelyn! She wasn't an old lady, not yet!—and cruel mental comment about his mother's age and consequent sagging bodily features, told him no.

This is what he'd signed the fuck on for.

Garland tried not to rush them out the door, because that wasn't normal. Because even if Brooklyn didn't believe it, he still had to look in control of this household. At least until mom and dad left. Nevertheless, his answers were short. He may have appeared a little stressed. May have stuttered once or twice when Brooklyn bit into his thoughts. Because Hiro was frowning at him as he headed out with Brooklyn and Mystel to introduce Mr. Siebalt to Myra.

And because, as Garland stared out at them, leaned his forehead for half a second too long—half a second too obviously—against the window, his mother caught him with a gentle palm around the back of the neck and turned him and smiled up into her youngest son's face with reassurance. "You don't have to worry anymore, Gar. Your friends made a beautiful impression. It's a pity about the allergies, but they were all _lovely_… Let's have dinner like this again soon! And I want them added to the family picture. I hope you'll be together for a very long time."

Jocelyn Siebalt, elegant in pale blue silk and intricately braided blonde-gray hair, apparently mistook Garland's weary sigh for one of relief. She grinned. "For all you warned us about Brooklyn, he was a sweetheart." She looked out the window beside him, at her husband, stately in a charcoal business suit even with the sleeves rolled up and tie boyishly loosened and slate hair like a mane, as he threw his head back and laughed full-force. "You've obviously worked very hard with him, and I can tell you honestly now, it's paid off. If he has good and bad days, this must have been a good one."

Garland thought perhaps she didn't see. Didn't see that, as dad laughed, Hiro and Mystel stood by also, impossibly still. Not even chuckling. Looking at Brooklyn, with the duck Myra cradled complacently in his arms, as though he'd just said the most revolting thing…

Mystel, who hadn't stopped laughing all dinner, wasn't laughing.

Dammit.

"You shouldn't worry so much; he's good for you!" Mrs. Siebalt decided, looking back at Garland, apparently mistaking the grimace twitching the corners of his lips for a smile.

And then Mr. Siebalt came back, still jovial. He patted Garland supportively on the shoulder (Garland trying not to sag under the faith), and reported, "Well, Joc, it looks like Gar has everything under control here."

Jocelyn nodded very vigorously. Mystel slid inside past them, wordless. Garland felt like crying.

His mother smiled wider and father patted harder, apparently mistaking their youngest son's half-shed tears for proud.

Outside, Garland watched Brooklyn put down Myra and wave goodbye to her, and Hiro, standing a little further, twitch at some bite to his brain or other. Watched Hiro rush forward, behind the Siebalt parents' turned backs, and snatch Brooklyn around the shoulders, pulling him close in anything but affection. Digging his fingers like claws into Brooklyn, who looked at him loftily, chin all stubborn pride. Eyes all appraisal and scorn. Mouth clamped tight around profanity he didn't need out-loud words to say, because Hiro got the message anyhow, and averted his desperate eyes.

And inside, so did Garland.

FIN

* * *

_A/N_: …I am a terrible person. And this is undoubtedly the most unpleasant birthday present I have ever given anyone. Please, **feather-duster**, I'm so sorry. Apparently everything I write has to turn out extremely sad. Uggggh. Drabbles in a few days! Those will be happier! …oh God I hope! 

I may in fact have misinterpreted your request. This isn't so much Brooklyn swearing like a sailor as Brooklyn flat out insulting everybody on the most personal terms possible. And abusing his power! Always abusing his power! And Garland being deluded! Oh, I'm so sorry…

I really DID sit down to write you something with a happy ending! I swear! In any case, I give you Kirkland, the big boring koi fish, as a consolation prize. And Myra. And random Siebalt siblings like Jamie (the racecar driver! Vroooooom!). And the Siebalt parents, only one of whom I was too lazy to name. It's your choice whether they're really that oblivious or not.

Damn… Well, maybe things will be better for them on Christmas. Assuming Brooklyn is having a good day…

ALSO GO READ **feather-duster**'s STUFF THIS INSTANT, WHOEVER YOU ARE.


End file.
